


The Caged Bird Sings

by sanguisuga



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Ball Stretcher, Bondage, Cock Ring, Established Mystrade, Flogging, Interrogation, M/M, Mindfuck, Nothing too Harrowing, Orgasm Denial, Roleplay, abduction fantasy, face fucking, handjob, nipple play/torture, pre-negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Mycroft finds himself in a "predicament".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WastingYourGum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/gifts).



> For the indomitable Al - happy birthday, buddy! You're such a vital part of this little corner of the Sherlock fandom - I do hope my offering pleases.
> 
> Please do heed the tags on this one, folx. It's heavy on the BDSM, kinda-sorta flirting with darkfic. No permanent damage done, I promise.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, [Anarfea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/pseuds/Anarfea) and [Amythe3lder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder)!

Mycroft kept his breathing regulated as he flexed the muscles in his arms, testing the strength of his bonds. Although it appeared to be a less than sophisticated set-up, the cuffs around his wrists seemed to have no give, and the heavy wooden posts that the chains were connected to were disappointingly inflexible. He was kneeling on the floor at the foot of a large and luxurious bed, his naked chest pressed firmly against the solid wood of the footboard. If he had been able to get his feet against it, he might have been able to gain some leverage, but there was simply no leeway. With a little shift, he realised that there were cuffs buckled around his ankles as well, but they didn’t seem to be connected to anything at the moment.

He only allowed himself a few moments of testing and straining, cognisant of the fact that he would surely tire himself out if he persisted for too long. Even though it would undoubtedly be a fool’s errand, he must have the strength to attempt to escape if an opportunity happened to present itself. Mycroft scowled as he realised that he was quite clearly a captive, but at least he could take a modicum of comfort in the fact that he hadn’t been mistreated. Well, not _yet_ , although the removal of every last stitch of his clothing was clearly a less than favourable sign.  

He tried to take stock of his surroundings, finding that the room was large and yet cosy, furnished as any luxurious bedroom might be. There was a chaise lounge off to Mycroft’s right, a small table standing by with a lamp and a tidy pile of books. He couldn’t see the titles, of course. Although the floor was hardwood, there was a plush fur rug under Mycroft’s bare knees, lending him just the tiniest amount of comfort. There was quite clearly a fireplace somewhere behind him; he felt the warmth pulsing against his back and could see the flickering of the flames reflected in the well-polished surface of the bed’s cherry wood headboard.

Mycroft once again tugged at his restraints as he tried to glance off to the left, freezing in place as a raspy chuckle sounded from behind him. The angle was awkward, what with his arm pulled so high, but he was able to discern a vague outline of a door, and a shadowy figure all in black leaning up against it. Mycroft swallowed hard as he eased back into his compromised position, wincing slightly at the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place.  

He kept his posture as neutral as possible, lifting his chin as the soft tread of military-style boots padded toward him. Mycroft fought against the swift welter of gooseflesh that cascaded down his spine with the slightest of caresses along the nape of his neck.

Again came the chuckle, followed by a low hum of what sounded like appreciation. “Ah. Aren’t you the pretty one?”

Mycroft bit down on the edge of his tongue, keeping it held still in his mouth and locking down his retort, as he knew that it was best not to show any reactions if at all possible. The voice was rough and gravelly, with a clearly discernible accent. It was definitely Slavic - Serbian, perhaps? Where was he, anyway? He remembered nothing of how he had been brought here, and had no clear idea of how long he’d been waiting. There were heavy blackout curtains pulled closed behind the chaise, and so there was no natural light that he could see. There was just the room, as lavish as it seemed, and now - this man.

The man in question paced behind him for a little while, but Mycroft did what he could to set him out of his mind, to concentrate on the possibility of escape. He jumped slightly as the rough voice chuckled again, tilting his head at a vaguely metallic clunk, discerning the muffled sounds of tools knocking together in some sort of bag. Mycroft kept his eyes averted as a heavy leather satchel was tossed on the foot of the bed in front of him.

Again came the whisper-soft caress, this time along his spine in between his shoulder blades. “Ah-ah, little bird. It may be you and I alone here in your pretty cage, but there are many others just outside that door. Even if you manage to break free from me - which would be most impressive - I promise that you will not fly far.” Mycroft swallowed as the satchel was opened, circumspectly eyeing the heavy ball-peen hammer that was extracted from within. The man sighed as he placed it on the mattress with exaggerated care. “And I would so very much hate if I were forced to clip your wings.”

Mycroft felt a strange sort of calm wash over him as additional tools were laid out in front of him. Needle-nose pliers, of course, metal skewers and a small blowtorch that was better suited for caramelising crème brûlée than for any use in the bedroom. There was an old-fashioned nutcracker too, which he knew could be very effective in breaking fingers one by one, crushing knuckles into dust. It was really rather amazing what an inventive individual could do with nothing more than basic kitchen supplies.

He lifted an eyebrow at the bundle of sterile scalpels being laid out next to disinfectant and bandages, along with a suture kit. Mycroft once again bit his tongue in an attempt to steel his expression, but it was in vain.

The man hummed low as he trailed his thick but surprisingly deft fingers over the tools of his trade, lingering over the medical supplies. “The General... He does not like for the goods to be permanently damaged - not until he knows their true worth. So. I cut, I patch, I cut some more. Perhaps I will leave a pretty pattern on this lovely pale skin, yes?”

Mycroft let himself sink deeper into his mind, his consciousness carrying him in a swirling vortex, down, down and even further down. He had been trained against this very eventuality, after all. He frowned internally at yet another of those infuriatingly gentle laughs, a small spike of anxiety wedging itself into his chest.

But of course the man knew that, didn’t he? He undoubtedly would have been trained in counter-measures, would have additional tools in his arsenal to possibly break through an operative’s defences. Mycroft reluctantly let himself float higher, readying himself to draw his protection down around him again at a moment’s notice. He had to know what the man was planning, had to be properly prepared.

He blinked rapidly as additional items were laid out before him, those thick fingers caressing the soft suede tails of a flogger, wrapping firmly around the handle of a riding crop and giving the mattress an experimental _thwack_. A paddle riddled with holes and a hefty leather belt folded in half were added to the array, as well as a number of smaller items, all of which could be classified under sex toys for the more adventurous set. Small vibrators and large dildos, nipple clamps and clothespins, pinwheels and a glove tipped with sharp claws.

The spike of worry grew sharper and colder still, its jagged edges spreading out through Mycroft’s chest as he struggled to keep breathing in a steady pattern. He’d had to face unpleasantries of this kind before, but of course he had been a great deal younger and much more resilient in those days. Today, as a middle-aged man, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could survive the same invasion of his body. Not since... No. No, he wouldn’t think of that, wouldn’t think of - him. There was only this man, and himself. No-one else. No-one to save him. He was on his own.

Mycroft did what he could to lock that thought away, holding his emotions close within, keeping his face a cold mask. But the man easily read the minute tremor in his shoulders as they dropped in resignation, softly clucking his tongue in sympathy.

“Poor little bird.” He took in a deep breath as he reached out to pick up a chisel from his pile of tools, the sharp edge discoloured with rust or - something else. “But do not distress yourself overmuch. While we do not know everything about you, there are things that are - understood.” He twirled the chisel in his fingers. “Antarctica - I could chip away at your ice and wear you down - in time you would tell us all that we wish to know. Or...” The chisel was tossed back into the leather satchel with a dismissive huff. Mycroft swallowed as a pair of black leather gloves were pulled on over the man’s hands, as he flexed his fingers into fists as if testing the fit. “Or we appeal to your - baser - instincts instead.”

Mycroft’s heart leapt into his throat as the man reached out to him, hooking two fingers under his chin and lifting his face. He stubbornly closed his eyes, willing himself not to shake, refusing to acknowledge the bloom of heat low in his belly. He knew now that this man was not intent on invading his bodily integrity or on perpetrating violent assault, even though it was clear that he would use whatever he had to hand to achieve his objective. His goal was much more sinister than simple interrogation and potentially far more devastating...

Seduction.  

Again came that rough, throaty chuckle, and despite Mycroft’s best efforts, he opened his eyes. Sweet hell, the man was _beautiful_. He sported a full head of luxuriously thick silver hair, rakishly swept back from a high, intelligent brow. He had boyish features offset by an almost ridiculously masculine jawline and his cheeks were peppered with silvered stubble. Mycroft stared at that stupidly handsome face, his lips parting slightly to let out the softest of gasps. The man’s already broad grin widened even further, sharp and predatory, his teeth strong and white. The coldness of that smile was offset by the gleam in his large chocolate-brown eyes, full of anticipation and delight.

His tongue flickered out over his lips, and Mycroft shuddered hard. “Oh yes, little bird. Yes, we know what you like, and you _will_ sing for me.” The man ran his leather-clad thumb along Mycroft’s mouth, tugging downward on his bottom lip. He let Mycroft’s head drop down again, reaching for the handle of the flogger. “You will sing _so_ beautifully.”  

Mycroft shivered as the first strike landed on his buttocks, subconsciously arching his back into the next. His despair was blunted by the sweet burn of desire, and he shook his head in a vain attempt to gather his thoughts, to shove them back down into the black box deep in his mind. But each blow made his skin light up with heady pleasure, and he was distracted from his purpose time and time again.

While this sort of activity had not always been his natural inclination, the training he had undergone as a young man had left Mycroft with a bit of a taste for it, as it had for many of the operatives in his company. After all, what better way to fight against pain than to derive some sort of pleasure from it? He had never heard of nor encountered anyone who had attempted to use this particular technique against those of his kind before, however. Mycroft had absolutely no idea how this scenario would play out, which just enhanced the excitement building in his belly, adding fuel to his already simmering arousal.

He bit back on a low moan as the tails of the flogger _snick_ ed over the already swollen globes of his arse, each flicker sparkling along the nerves under his skin. With his brain drifting gently in the waves of endorphins washing over it, Mycroft became attuned to the man’s breathing, swaying toward him with each grunt of effort that echoed through the room. Silently counting the seconds between strikes, Mycroft whimpered when the next expected blow failed to land.

A swift rush of heat cascaded through his chest as the man stepped up close, running his leather-clad fingers through Mycroft’s hair. He was just able to stop himself from leaning back into his touch, closing his eyes as he shuddered indiscriminately. He flinched away slightly as the flogger was tossed over his head, landing among the scattered medical supplies.

“Up, little bird. On your feet.” Mycroft lolled heavily as he was roughly jerked up, his wrist cuffs being fastened higher, his legs pulled wide to enable his ankles to be similarly fastened down below. Held spread-eagled, he attempted to wrap his fingers around the chain, holding onto it loosely as he slumped in place. Although he was aware of every whisper of air against his already sensitised flesh, his limbs felt leaden and useless. The idea of escape had already been an uncertain proposition, but now it was utterly laughable.

Just one whipping by this man, and Mycroft was entirely uncertain as to whether he would run from or _to_ him if his shackles were released. The turmoil within grew as the man stepped close to his back, pressing his body to Mycroft’s stinging backside, reaching up to run both hands over and along his arms, down his torso. He nosed gently behind Mycroft’s ear, humming softly as he shivered in his grasp. Mycroft inhaled the scent of him, the leather of his gloves, the spice of his cologne, the sweet smokiness of his breath as it washed over his skin. A smoker, then.

_‘God, what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now...'_

His brain reeled slightly as the evidence that the man was not wholly unaffected by his efforts poked him gently in the flank before drawing away. Startled, Mycroft glanced up as the man clambered onto the bed in front of him, but the stark hunger in his dark eyes made him drop his gaze again. Mycroft frowned to himself as his stomach churned unpleasantly. Should he be concerned that his tormentor was enjoying this? Should he be concerned that _he_ was?

Mycroft swallowed as those leather-clad hands reached for the riding crop, wincing as his stirring cock received a half-hearted smack as if in chastisement. “Already that eager, are we?” The man shifted onto his knees in front of him, sweeping aside the tools of his trade, plucking a few items out of the mess. “Let’s see what we can do to contain that little nuisance of yours.”    

Mycroft almost sputtered in indignation, but he managed to contain it by turning up his nose. He leant back against his restraints, squirming to get away as his genitals were manhandled none too gently. He huffed out short breaths from between his teeth as the leather straps were snapped into place, the first around the base of his cock and a second, much thicker band tightened around his scrotum, keeping it held away from his body. Together they increased the pressure down below, holding his already unseemly arousal in a constant state of readiness.

The man hummed to himself in satisfaction as Mycroft’s cock responded to the constriction of the tissue, slowly filling up with blood until it was jutting out from his body obscenely. He smirked at Mycroft’s affronted glare, gesturing downward. “I would say that I am flattered, however...”

“Nothing but mechanics.”

Mycroft cursed his own creaky voice as the man’s eyes widened in smug victory. “Quite so.” He tilted his head as he studied Mycroft’s body, his eyes lingering over his chest. “Even if the reaction is involuntary, I must say that the picture it makes is rather lovely.” He showed his teeth. “But of course - it can always be made lovelier.”

With that, he brandished a pair of truly wicked-looking nipple clamps under Mycroft’s nose. He gasped aloud as each was placed, trying to breathe through the sharp sting. The fiend attached a short length of chain between them and amused himself for a while by tugging on it in random patterns. With each jerk, the clamps seemed to bite down even harder, and it wasn’t long before Mycroft was hissing out low curses, his arms pulling down on his restraints in his aborted efforts to wriggle away.

He ground his molars together, glaring hard at the man’s fascinated expression. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he held the chain taut, snatching the riding crop up and landing a swift succession of blows to the side of each pectoral. Mycroft cried out, twisting against his bonds, his vision nearly whiting out at the edges. For a half a moment he felt as though his nipples had actually been sliced through, but then there was a stinging slap against his tender bum and his focus abruptly shifted.

His brain reeled with the conflicting sensations, but with the continuation of the assault on his backside, he was able to set aside the dull throbbing in his chest - for the most part. He knew that the real agony would come when the clamps were removed, when the nerves would come alive again. But for now he could concentrate on the tiny ripples of pain spreading out over his arse, down the back of his thighs and in between. The man bestowed hard strikes that made his skin jump, that sent tiny sparks deep into the pleasure centers of his brain. No portion of his body seemed to be off-limits to the crop as he felt the sting on his calves, over his trembling arms and along his sides, on his belly just above his straining cock.

Mycroft let out a short if sincere scream of pain as the bit of metal still clamped around his right nipple received a resounding blow. He sagged against his bonds as his stomach swirled with nausea, shaking his head in an attempt to stave off impending unconsciousness. In the next moment the man was pressed flush to his backside, his thick fingers reaching around and deftly releasing the nipple clamps. The jolt of sensation rushing back into the abused flesh brought Mycroft back to full awareness in less than a moment, his breath catching in his throat and even his heartbeat seeming to still due to the shock of it.

He tipped his head back as the man wrapped one arm around his chest, applying firm pressure to the throbbing wounds, making the pain somewhat easier to tolerate. He slowly began to mimic the rhythm of the man’s steady breathing, feeling his chest rising and falling against his back. Mycroft sagged slightly as the pressure of the man’s left arm receded, still holding him close, but not as tightly.

He put his lips to Mycroft’s ear, humming inquisitively. Mycroft nodded, still breathing carefully, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The hum turned into a little growl of satisfaction, and Mycroft shivered with delight. “Yes, little bird. Just like that. Breathe with me, yes?”  

Mycroft shook his head as the man’s right hand snaked over his hip, across and down, the warm leather of the glove he was wearing wrapping gently around his cock. He was chided for his reluctance with a soft cluck of the tongue and a decisive stroke, his thighs quivering in anticipation. He choked out a short curse as the man’s left arm shifted again, as he idly circled one abused nipple before giving it a solid tweak. Mycroft hissed as he tried to twist away, but of course there was nowhere for him to go.

“You can stop this any time you wish, Antarctica. Just tell me what I want to know.”  

Mycroft shook his head again. “I c-cannot... Please, you must know that I _can’t_.”

The man hummed doubtfully, nuzzling behind Mycroft’s ear as he continued to stroke him, pulling his foreskin taut over the head of his cock, rotating his wrist so that it was sliding slickly over his frenulum. Mycroft moaned as he tipped his head back, his hips moving in short jerks as he sought more friction. He shuddered as strong white teeth closed down over his earlobe, as hot lips sucked it in for a gentle nibble.

He felt his face flush as his breath quickened, hot tension swirling down below, his bollocks tingling as they tried to pull up tight, held firmly away from the comforting warmth of his body by that unforgiving piece of leather. He swayed in the man’s hold, vocalising his spiraling pleasure up to the ceiling, taking in a deep breath and holding it as...

As he was abruptly let go.

For once he was actually grateful for the chains, as he would have gone down like a felled tree if they weren’t holding him up. His hips thrust a few times more into empty air, blindly seeking more friction. For one wild moment, Mycroft wished that the man _had_ stuffed something up his bum, as he might have been able to seek completion had he something to clench down on. But there was nothing for him to do except whimper and thrash, his cock throbbing angrily with every beat of his racing heart, the blood in his brain pounding loudly in his ears.

He shook his head with a softly muttered, “Please - no,” as the heavy belt was lifted from the mattress. The man’s only response was a pointed look of disappointment, and Mycroft was shocked to discover that it cut at him just as deeply as any physical blow.

He had thought that any additional punishment would have no effect on his swollen and numb backside, but he was quickly proven wrong. Each strike of the belt thudded deeply into the muscle, sending waves of pain rippling through his body. Soon enough, he simply stopped struggling, his head dangling low, cursing the sight of his ever-ready cock as it stared up at him obscenely. It dribbled out a steady stream of pre-ejaculate and twitched hopefully every time the belt made contact with his skin.

Mycroft didn’t know how long the man continued to beat him, having long ago lost track of the minutes and number of strikes. He only became aware when it stopped, listening to the man’s harsh breathing, frowning slightly at a tickling sensation running down his thigh. Whether it was the continuous leaking of his traitorous cock or whether the man had split his skin, he wasn’t sure; although there was the vaguest coppery tang of blood in the air, layered among the sharp scent of his sweat and the tingling salt of unshed tears crusted under his eyes.

Mycroft simply hung there, hopelessly exhausted as pain radiated throughout his body and need coursed through his blood. He moaned quietly as his face was cradled gently, as his tears were kissed away. The man murmured to him in a low sing-song voice, soft and sibilant, something that sounded vaguely like a lullaby. Mycroft was too far gone to parse the words even though he was sure he knew them.

He opened his eyes and felt a surge of something indefinable sweep through his chest and belly at the look in the man’s eyes, something huge and hot and overwhelming. Mycroft stammered noiselessly as the man pressed his lips to his forehead, running his fingers through his hair and delicately exploring his face with those leather gloves.

“I am not a cruel man, Antarctica. Not by nature.” The man gazed at him, his chocolate-brown eyes wide with sorrow and glistening with tears. “I do not wish to hurt you. So beautiful... You deserve to be cherished.”

The ploy was so transparent that Mycroft nearly laughed, but the stark sincerity in those dark eyes stopped him before he even took breath. “Pre-preposterous.”

Rather than responding with outrage, the man smiled sadly, casting his eyes down to Mycroft’s mouth. “I do not blame you for doubting me, but it is the truth.” He leant forward and brushed their lips together, his kiss so light that he may well as have been a spectre. “Please, little bird. I do not want to hurt you any more. Tell me what I need to know, and let me take care of you instead.” The man traced his lips over Mycroft’s jaw and down, nuzzling at his neck. “Please, I beg of you.” He hummed thoughtfully as he scraped his stubble along the shelf of Mycroft’s clavicle. “If you tell me, I may be allowed to keep you.”

Mycroft frowned, gasping out a single syllable as the man’s teeth grazed over his skin. “Keep?”

“To protect you, yes.” The man gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. “Keep you safe from those out there, those who mean you harm. Make you mine, so they stay away.” His voice hardened slightly. “They know better than to touch what is _mine_.”

Mycroft’s heart stuttered as he felt the man’s hand wrap around him again, his touch light but sure. He felt it almost as though he had wrapped his whole body around him, sheltering him from the outside world, keeping him safe from harm. It was a ridiculous notion and should not have been at all appealing, however... The man’s hand tugged, and Mycroft jerked against his bonds, feeling as though he had just been shot through with electricity. “Y-yours?”

“If you would have me.” His hand continued to move over Mycroft’s cock, the warm leather of his glove squeezing at him rhythmically, making stars spark at the edges of his brain. “Anything you ask of me you will have. I will beat you at your command and pleasure you for hours. Feed you and clothe you and cherish you as you deserve.”

Mycroft’s voice broke around a low moan. “I w-would still be caged.”

The man huffed in his ear, his tone sadly resigned. “The world is but a prison, Antarctica. My cage is perhaps cosier than most.” His fingers deftly unsnapped the strap around Mycroft’s cock, stroking him a bit faster. “Come now - let me have you. Sing for me, little bird - _please_.”

Mycroft bit his lip, trying to deny the words, the overwhelming relief that was dawning in his mind. He was just so very tired, and as odd as it was, he felt as though he could trust this man with his secrets - with his life. He dipped his head, tucking his chin over the man’s shoulder as he shuffled closer to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and cradling him gently.

A single tear slid from Mycroft’s eye. “For you.” He let out a shuddering breath and tilted his head, whispering softly. He quietly betrayed Queen and Country, outlining weapons deals that were in the process of completion, the main players on both sides, those he knew were double agents and those who were simply hoping to profit. Plans to destabilise the region, those that they were hoping to put in power. Any little tidbit of information he possessed was passed along with only the barest pangs of shame and no regret whatsoever.

The man continued to nuzzle and stroke as Mycroft spilled his secrets, reaching down to remove the final piece of that abominable device. When Mycroft’s voice had petered out into increasingly high-pitched cries of desperation, the man covered his mouth with his own, kissing him so fiercely he ran out of breath. Mycroft muffled his pleasure against the man’s shoulder as he effortlessly brought him over the edge, carrying him through it as his body twisted and jerked against his chains.

The man hastily wiped his come-splattered glove over his trousers, reaching up to cradle Mycroft’s face with both hands. “So good for me, my pet.”

Mycroft tried to smile, but just that simple gesture took more energy than he could even hope to muster. He let himself hang, watching dully as the man swiftly packed away his tools, slinging the satchel onto the floor with a muffled clatter. His lips quirked into an apologetic grimace as he took up a clean flannel and poured a bit of the disinfectant on it. “I am sorry, my sweet.” He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. “Breathe for me, yes? I’ll be quick.”

Mycroft hissed as the cleanser bit harshly into the wounds on his nipples, struggling to breathe as he had been bade. The man slipped around to his backside, reaffirming the notion that he had beat him soundly enough to draw blood. After his agonising and yet blessedly brief clean-up, Mycroft was aware of the clattering of chains, feeling his legs being shifted underneath him.

There was very little feeling in them, and he knew that if he had been on his own, he simply would have collapsed. But the man was there, and after unbuckling the cuff around his right wrist, he carefully wrapped Mycroft’s arm around his neck. With an arm secure around his waist, he reached up to undo the last restraint, bracing his legs as Mycroft slumped into him bonelessly.

With a low grunt of effort, he swung his other arm under Mycroft’s knees and picked him up. Even though he was set down on the mattress as gently as possible, Mycroft’s breath still caught in his throat with the pain that wracked through his body at the contact. The man murmured again, low soothing noises until Mycroft’s heartbeat had slowed and his breath evened out.

“Poor broken bird.” The man carefully clambered onto the bed with Mycroft, sitting up against the headboard behind him. “You will heal, I swear this. Under my hand, you will thrive.”

Mycroft curled up on himself as he was petted gently, shivering sporadically as those leather gloves ghosted over the abrasions on his backside, as they combed through the hair at the back of his head. His consciousness seemed to be floating over his bruised body, and he looked down on himself with interest. He slowly pushed out one leg to stretch it, relishing the burn in his muscles, coddling the ache deep in his centre. There was a swift surge of alarm - not quite panic - as he drifted just a bit higher above it all, taking in the man sitting up next to him, his legs stretched out in front of him and feet crossed at the ankle.

Fearing that he just might lose himself forever, Mycroft shifted and rolled over, hissing out a short breath as every little mark throbbed under his skin. He rested his cheek on the man’s thigh, cautiously reaching out to wrap his arm around him. The man hummed low as his fingers tightened in Mycroft’s hair, and he felt himself sink a bit deeper into his bones. His grip on himself was still tenuous, but it seemed to deepen as the man tugged on his hair, drawing him back down. Yes, that was what he needed - an anchor. Something to keep him in the cage of his body, something to ground himself to so he wouldn’t just float away.

Biting his lip as his muscles protested, he creakily pushed himself up and slithered over the man’s legs, settling his torso down on his thighs. The lingering pain in his nipples spiked and made his brain reel, but Mycroft pressed down with determination, lowering his face to nuzzle into the man’s groin. He dragged his nose up and down the zip of his trousers, his breath shuddering out over the fabric.

The man hummed again, tilting his hips up as his fingers closed down over the nape of Mycroft’s neck. “You want something, little bird?”

Mycroft looked up at him, his vision slightly blurred with the tears that were threatening to fall. “Please.” He licked his dry lips as the man narrowed his eyes as if in contemplation. “Please, sir. I need to feel you inside me.”

The man blinked slowly and dipped his head in a curt nod. “Anything my pet needs, he will have.”

Mycroft’s hands shook, but he managed to get the zip drawn down, and the man obligingly shifted underneath him, spreading his legs slightly, giving him room to work. At first he didn’t do much, simply breathing in the man’s scent, the earthy, animal musk of his sweat, the sharp tang of his arousal that made Mycroft’s mouth flood with saliva. He mindlessly nuzzled against the man’s thick cock with lips and nose, rubbing his cheek into him until he was fully erect.

Engorged with blood and need, the man’s cock was a force all its own, imbued with a will that was obviously used to getting what it wanted. And what it wanted right now was Mycroft’s mouth, so he slid down on it, breathing shallowly in through his nose as he worked his tongue around the flared head. He made a few passes, sinking down lower each time, until the shaft was gleaming with his saliva. The man seemed content enough to allow Mycroft some time to become accustomed to this new intrusion, but he made it rather clear when he felt the introductory period had passed.

With one hand tight around his neck and the other clenching into his hair, the man held Mycroft still as he thrust upwards into his mouth and down his throat. Mycroft relaxed as much of the tension in his body as he could, holding himself propped up by his elbows, his shoulders down and mouth loose. He opened himself up to his new role, to be used as a vessel for this man’s pleasure. Another quieter, more secret part of his brain sang with bliss as his face was fucked, hard and fast and beautifully sloppy.

He worked his throat around the thick piece of flesh that was shoved deep, stars flickering behind his eyelids as the lack of oxygen made him go dizzy. Mycroft distantly felt the pulsing against his esophagus, the splash of warmth sliding down into his belly. The man murmured to him as he withdrew, his breathing harsh in the relative stillness of the room. Mycroft gratefully pressed his face into the man’s belly as he recovered his own air, rubbing it from side to side, smearing the traces of spit and semen over the man’s black shirt.

He gasped out a quick snort of something that could be construed as laughter, his hands sliding down to grasp Mycroft’s upper arms. He pulled him up, and Mycroft sluggishly drew his knees underneath him so that he was more or less sitting on the man’s lap. He lifted his head as the hands squeezed meaningfully, looking into dark eyes that were tight around the edges with an unspoken demand. He knew what the man wanted, of course. He knew, and he was more than willing to give it to him. Mycroft dropped his eyes to the man’s mouth, letting out a shuddering breath along with one simple statement.

“I surrender.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue...

In the next moment there were strong arms around him and gentle lips pressed firmly to his sweaty forehead.

_“Mycroft...”_

Mycroft clenched his fists into black fabric, pressing his face into the man’s neck. “Gre-” His body shuddered hard as he finally let go, hot tears cascading down his cheeks. _“Greg.”_ He sniffled as he was rocked, thick fingers smoothing down his hair and stroking over his cheek. Although the gloves had been removed, his husband’s hands still smelled of leather.

“I’m here, my sweet. I’m here for you.” Greg pressed butterfly kisses all over Mycroft’s face, his fingers gentle and soothing as they skimmed over his jaw and down the column of his throat. “You did _so_ well, my love. I’m so very proud of you.”

Mycroft sagged against his husband’s body as Greg shifted underneath him, somehow getting them both laid down in the bed, pulling a toasty blanket over their entwined bodies. Mycroft let himself be held, lulled into a hazy state of half-awareness as he was praised for his strength and bravery despite the tears that continued to flow. He obediently accepted the small sips of water that he was lovingly ordered to drink, opening his mouth and taking every small morsel of food that was presented to him in addition to a couple of pain relievers. Mycroft whimpered unhappily as Greg released him and slid out of bed, but it was only long enough for him to shed his costume and hastily wipe down.

Greg gathered him back into his arms as soon as he was back in bed, nuzzling into his sweaty hair as Mycroft pressed his face into his husband’s neck. He sniffled quietly and cleared his throat, waiting for Greg’s questioning little hum to speak, his voice raspy and small. “Next time, I want to be underneath you when you fuck my face. Hold me down, really give it to me - make me lose my voice.”

Greg snorted softly. “Then how will you surrender to me, little bird?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, his fingers combing gently through Greg’s chest hair. “I’ll sign it. You’ll know.” He lifted his head briefly, meeting his Greg’s eyes. “You always know.”

Greg’s eyes glistened as he looked at him, his bottom lip trembling slightly. “I’m so honoured you trust me with this, Mycroft.” He splayed his palm over Mycroft’s chest, over his heart. “That you trust me with you.”

Mycroft’s smile was shaky, but he lifted his chin with pride. “I would trust you with the world, my love.”

Their kisses were ardent if still soft and sweet, speaking their love to one another in the most ancient language of all. Mycroft sighed happily as he was bundled under another layer of covers, still wrapped in his blanket, still held tightly in his lover’s arms, safe in their home, cosy in their marital bed. He drifted into sleep on a wave of achy contentment, knowing that when he woke the next day he would be relentlessly coddled, and that he would adore every moment of it.

He would be brought breakfast in bed, and would most likely be offered lunch there too, even though he would laughingly protest that he couldn’t possibly stay in bed the entire weekend - especially if he didn’t want his bruised body to stiffen up almost unbearably. Greg would grumble as he always did, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around his most precious possession and shelter him forever.

But then he would capitulate to Mycroft’s logic, as if he had any other choice, and draw them a bath that would drain the aches out of his limbs, that would bring up the already colourful bruises into startlingly vibrant relief. Liniment and his husband’s wonderful hands would serve to aid in Mycroft’s healing in addition to an almost endless litany of praise. Greg would croon over his marks, calling Mycroft his ‘stunning work of art’, and he would blush so hard that it would make his head spin. Yes, the next two days would be spent together, always together, barely an arm’s length from each other, reaffirming their love and dedication.

And at the end of those two days, before they had to step back out into the world and behave as individuals rather than as two halves of the same whole, Mycroft would willingly lay his bruised body down for his husband. Greg would take him, softly and sweetly, moving inside him in a gentle and deep rhythm, rocking him right to the edge, filling him completely. He would be fucked as if he were the most precious, fragile thing in all the world, and for that moment, Mycroft would allow himself to feel that truth before his soul would shatter, secure in the knowledge that Greg would fit all the pieces back together again.

And then Monday would come, and Mycroft would gingerly seat himself behind the desk of the most powerful man in Britain, his cracks all filled in and his icy exterior restored, knowing that all his secrets would be held completely safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Not brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!


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